Auum trotted down the main deck. As on all four elven ships, the TaiGethen were split five cells each to port and starboard, ready to board both of the ships they passed between. In a line between the TaiGethen stood twenty Il-Aryn. The other twenty were hidden but ready to respond to the call. The Il-Aryn leader on board was a Gyalan iad Auum had not seen before they put to sea but had since impressed him.
‘Istani, any problems?’
‘No time for problems,’ she replied, nodding at the enemy looming large ahead. ‘We’re ready.’
‘Trust us,’ said Auum. ‘Don’t second-think. You must protect the ships because should we fail, you can outrun them back to Calaius.’
‘We won’t let you down.’
‘Yniss bless you.’
‘Gyal kiss you with blessed rain,’ returned Istani.
‘Tais,’ called Auum. ‘We pray.’
Stein could feel the weight of the Wytch Lords’ power swilling through the shamen gathered on the enemy vessels. Standing next to the mizzenmast, he worried about the ability of the Il-Aryn to block what was coming, and of the TaiGethen to tackle the Wesmen. The shamen were powerful and their swordsmen strong and brutal. He could barely feel what it was the Il-Aryn said they possessed.
Yet Takaar would brook no doubts, and Drech, the one who spoke such sense and was a genuine scholar, had unstinting faith in his charges’ abilities. Still, Stein refused to be caught napping. Though he’d been asked to preserve his mana stamina for a possible rearguard action, there were still things he could do and the shamen would not be able to deflect because they’d have no idea he was there until it was way too late.
The enemy were mustering but unsure of themselves. Shamen were gathered in groups on the ships he could see and the Wesmen waved weapons, shouted abuse and postured in a faintly ridiculous but typical fashion. Stein felt the Wytch Lord power intensifying. He glanced over at Takaar.
‘Incoming,’ said Stein. ‘Imminently.’
Takaar glared at him but his face softened almost immediately. He nodded.
‘Credit where it is due, you’re right,’ he said quietly then raised his voice. ‘Drech, give the order.’
‘Raise the barrier,’ said Drech. ‘Enclose this vessel. Ix bless you for your strength, your belief and your talent. Deploy.’
The casting snapped into place with barely a pause. Stein hunched reflexively at the weight of magical power it drew. There was no mistaking what the Il-Aryn could do now, and he found himself staring, his eyes attuned to the mana spectrum.
‘Gods drowning, what is that?’
An ovoid covered the ship above and below the waterline. He could see it because he could both sense it and because it sharpened the focus of everything beyond it. Stein fought to understand what he was seeing. Lines of mana ran through the casting but in a way a lace might secure a boot rather than as the base fabric. It appeared to be made of little other than air and perhaps water but had an aura of incredible strength — that of the stormy sea and of the tempest’s energy. It shimmered occasionally as if reaffirming its shape and integrity, the Il-Aryn who had cast it sitting perfectly still, line astern, arms folded into their laps and their heads resting on their chests.
Takaar was walking towards him, his arms spread and a beatific smile on his face.
‘It is a wonder, isn’t it?’
‘It is,’ said Stein. ‘Will it work? What have you made here?’
The front row of Wesmen ships was past them, leaving the nearest enemy vessels in the second row less than a hundred yards away. The elven skipper pointed up a little into the wind, aiming for the gap between the first pair of ships. TaiGethen crouched beneath the port and starboard rails, waiting for the order to attack. They had no ropes and no grapples, but having seen what the Il-Aryn had done, Stein ceased to be concerned about their ability.
‘We draw on nature’s power. We manipulate the elements. There is nothing stronger than nature because even when we are all dust, it will endure. We have rendered the air about this ship and the skin of water encasing the hull solid as deep mountain stone. No power can break it.’
Eighty yards. The TaiGethen were praying. The intensity of the Wytch Lord magic was painful in Stein’s skull. He prayed Takaar was right.
‘But can I cast anything out of it?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ said Takaar. ‘It’s a repulsion field on the outside only. You could push your hand through it.’
Takaar paused and giggled like a child. Sixty yards. Stein prepared.
‘Oh yes, that’s almost the best part,’ Takaar said, apparently to someone else. ‘Shall we tell him?’
Stein wasn’t really listening; his concentration was focused solely on his casting, which in comparison to the Il-Aryn’s was a work in stately progress towards a less spectacular goal.
Takaar was still talking. ‘Don’t tell anyone else, but from the outside the barrier is opaque, like water cascading down glass. They can’t see through it.’
Forty yards.
‘Really?’ Stein almost lost the shape of his spell. ‘That’s very good. Very good indeed.’
Wytch Lord magic spat across the shortening gap from both sides as the elven ship moved smoothly between the enemy vessels, turning a few degrees into the wind. Black lines traced across the barrier, which rippled like a millpond pierced by a stone. Stein clung to his casting while the energies thrummed and fought all around him. On the deck adepts grunted and shivered. Drech urged them to strength.
Twenty yards. The enemy ship in Stein’s vision was huge. He felt as if walls were closing on them from both sides and he could hear the shouts and taunts of Wesmen as if they were surrounded. The TaiGethen tensed. Stein looked beyond the stern of the onrushing Wesman ship. The flank of the central vessel, the ship the elves could not board on their first pass, was just in range. Stein cast, seeing his orb fly in an arc towards his chosen enemy. The skipper of the elven ship turned a few more points north, leaving them broadside on to the enemy on both sides and almost in irons.
The two enemy vessels moved past them, one trailing the other by about half a length. Shaman magic tore at the shield, and the Il-Aryn fought to keep their casting sound. From the rails left and right the Wesmen howled promises of death. The TaiGethen leaped to oblige them.
Chapter 8
Of all the great errors an adept can make, the greatest is assuming a power on a par with my own will grow.
Auum had seen Gyaam’s Blessing turn east towards them and sail across the bows of the front rank of enemy vessels. Just astern of them, Spirit mirrored the move, ploughing west across the light swell and triggering a belated reaction from the enemy.
Esteren sailed astern and out of range of the front rank before pointing up a few degrees into the wind to come between their target vessels. They closed fast. The sounds of the ocean, gulls and sails were joined by the roars of the Wesmen crowding the rails of their ships. The Il-Aryn’s casting snapped into place. A weight settled on Auum’s shoulders and he breathed deeply to ease it.
Wytch Lord black fire crashed into the barrier, spitting and fizzing, seeking a weakness to exploit. The barrier bowed and rippled, and the Il-Aryn gritted their teeth. The ships closed; walls of timber bristling with sharpened steel in the hands of powerful warriors.
‘Know your landing!’ called Auum. ‘Steel is death! Fight hard, move fast. Remember: over there we have no defence against the black fire.’